by Rae Earl
Bloody love Neneh!! ‘Manchild’ – WHAT A SONG! You could shout it at so many blokes. She’s another one with a kid that looks totally beautiful. And I’m not being lesbo or anything but she’s gorgeous.
Thursday 15.6.89
6.20 p.m.
EXAM WENT OK BUT THEN, God knows how, I have been roped into being the Scarecrow and have to do the choreography for the sixth-form play The Wizard of Oz. I know I have been practising dancing for years in my bedroom but they must be desperate if they are picking me. None of the serious drama people want to be associated with it because they think it is going to go to shit. This is a chance to show a different side of me, and prove them wrong. For a start I have picked these songs:
Kylie’s ‘Hand on Your Heart’ – for the Tin Man because he wants a heart.
Smiths’ ‘The Boy With the Thorn in His Side’ – for the Scarecrow (me). I thought there could be a vague scarecrow/plant/tree/thorn reference in it, and it would please the indie fans.
Guns ’n’ Roses’ ‘Paradise City’ – for when the Wicked Witch is talking about Oz, and to please the metal fans.
Feargal Sharkey’s ‘A Good Heart’ – for the Tin
Man again. I already have a dance for this, which I developed in 1985.
Tight Fit’s ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ – it’s the only song I could think of that involves a lion.
‘The Time Warp’ from Rocky Horror, which has got nothing to do with anything, but everyone knows the dance so I have shoved it in.
Mum is currently packing. The sound of her wardrobe being emptied is a lovely noise!
Just playing Beastie Boys’ ‘Fight for Your Right (to Party)’. I don’t really like it but it makes the point!!!!
Friday 16.6.89 (end of exams)
EXAMS FINISHED!! OVER!! GONE!! GOOD RIDDANCE! GET LOST! PISS OFF! PLUS MUM IS OFF TO MOROCCO TO SEE HER HUSBAND – FREE HOUSE! FREE HOUSE!
It’s the day we thought would never arrive! Just been to Oliver’s nightclub! They had a special ska ten minutes. Completely went mad when they played ‘One Step Beyond’ by Madness. Hadn’t heard it in ages. A drunk bloke at the bar said to me, ‘You move fast, considering your size.’ I ignored him. If it was an insult it was crap.
If it was a chat-up line (some hope!), it was even crapper.
Battered Sausage was a total git; but when one thing goes right (i.e. exams finishing) another thing has to go badly in return. Apparently, he is ‘well in love’ with his new girlfriend. Well, I have got shitloads of parties over the next few weeks, so I cannot be bothered to think about him or her. If he wants to ignore me so he can give his new floozy loads of attention, then so be it. Wanker.
It was a right laugh tonight, a damn good boogie, and Mort is currently staying over. We have just been talking about blokes. She thinks Battered Sausage is a wanker but also charming. She fancies Fig and has told me never, ever to tell Dobber, and she thinks Haddock is very good-looking but arrogant. We both agree that Haddock is such a good dancer it is unbelievable. Tonight he was dancing to Yazz ‘The Only Way Is Up’ and it was honestly like watching a professional. Don’t get me wrong, though, he is still a cock – but a handsome cock. I love Mort: we have a great night, and then we can talk about the night for another two hours and it never gets boring.
Saturday 17.6.89
LATE – IT’S PROBABLY SUNDAY – NO MAN ACTION SHIT NIGHT. Just been to Lewis Deede’s party. It was weird. I felt really unloved, and I was drunk. Sat in the field behind the hall and cried. This crying was disturbed by two people shagging . . . I was concerned at first, as I thought by all the heavy breathing someone was having an asthma attack. They were at it. Everyone was at it. A girl from the year below was doing it in the cloakroom. The music was shit. There were too many goths there. I mean, there was a bloke with zits and a distressed leather jacket, customised with ‘Fields of the Nephilim’, and even he was snogging a plain girl from Stamford College. If all the dos are going to be like this, I would rather stay in my room for the rest of June!
Sunday 18.6.89
2.12 p.m.
ILOVE MUM BEING AWAY. I can play everything FULL BLAST.
Feel crap. These are the songs that are making it better:
‘A NEW ENGLAND’ – KIRSTY MACCOLL. Fuck Shakespeare. This is one of the best songs ever written. It’s about how you think people are brilliant but in the end they let you down. At the end she is by the phone waiting for someone to call and help her. No one does. I don’t have a phone at home but I know it would be the same for me if I did.
The whole of MEAT IS MURDER – THE SMITHS. Morrissey for prime minister!
‘PARTY FEARS TWO’ – THE ASSOCIATES. It’s mad, but it’s brilliant. It’s about feeling nervous before a big party; and I will tell you now, however much I am looking forward to going to a do, I am always so worried about that first moment that people see me because I know loads of them will be thinking, ‘FAT COW, HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?’
ABBA. Yes, it’s embarrassing. But I love them.
‘SHOUT’ – TEARS FOR FEARS. SAYS IT ALL.
Dreading tonight. When I am on my own at home, my head goes more weird. So I am forcing myself to go out. Can’t cope with my head going again. Ever again.
Monday 19.6.89
1.14 a.m.
THAT WAS MORE LIKE IT!!! Charles Leigh’s do at the Danish Invader pub tonight was brilliant. The invitation was either to dress in pyjamas or as Hawkwind. I went in pyjamas, as I didn’t have a bloody clue what Hawkwind was. When I got there I was relieved, as Hawkwind is a band that the bloke from Motorhead used to be in. Lots of leather and long hair. It was all a bit Quo. Good laugh, though. I STILL got no man action, even though my pyjamas were a teensy bit see-through.
5.14 p.m.
We are in trouble with The Wizard of Oz. And I found out tonight there are blokes coming to see it. Which worries me no end. Jasmine looks stupidly gorgeous as the Good Fairy – she is wearing a basque. Every man will get a stiff – it is almost certain. I can’t begrudge her it, as she is lovely too. But I am here stuffed full of straw on top of my, errr . . . ‘natural padding’.
Mind you, some poor cow has got a baked-bean can on her head to be the Tin Man, so I really can’t complain.
The director is having a breakdown. She called me over to the back of the hall in tears, saying, ‘Everyone is having a go at me, Rae – I can’t cope! My boyfriend is going to university to do sports science, but they don’t do religious studies so I can’t go there, and now the Munchkins are moaning that their knees hurt, and the trees say they have nothing to do!!’ (I have shortened the dance routine for the Munchkins, and given the trees more branch/arm waving to ‘Hand on Your Heart’.)
I never thought the hours of dancing in my room would have ever paid off, but they have. Everyone commenting that I am a natural when it comes to dancing and, being honest, I have long thought I am. When the bedroom door is closed and I am going mad, I can move fast and in time. The routine for Kylie Minogue is particularly good. I tried to do something extra for the trees with a routine based on Madonna’s ‘Express Yourself’, but most of them can’t do a spin like I can. To be fair, their cardboard trunks do stop them.
How many things would I be brilliant at if I wasn’t carrying this spare tyre? Dancing? Three-day eventing? (Don’t get me wrong – I have never done it, but I have always thought that if I was from a loaded family I could be a superb horsewoman.) Pulling? Snogging?
Everything.
Been eating even more shit than normal since Mum’s been away. I’d never admit it to her, but I miss her really. I miss her cooking.
Tuesday 20.6.89
Late
IAM VERY PISSED OFF. I thought I had been invited to every party that was happening this year, but in the common room today an invite slipped out of Amber East’s folder. It was for a party I have never even heard of. Now, I am good mates with her, and her boyfriend is meant to be a mate of mine too. When I asked her why I hadn’t been invited to
his special HBI do, she started pissing herself. I don’t know if it is a secret posh society or some other bullshit, but it just proves that rich people stick to their own groups. God knows what other stuff I am missing out on.
Wednesday 21.6.89
10.30 a.m. (lower-sixth common room)
SOMEBODY HAS JUST TOLD ME that Harry is going out with someone, and I’m bloody upset. Well, what a ridiculous state of emotions. Apparently, she is in the upper sixth. Why the hell do I feel like this? It’s bloody ridiculous. I only snogged him twice – and that was nearly four months ago.
11.23 p.m.
Turn-up for the books. Battered Sausage turned up to take me out for a drink. When I asked him if he had been invited to the HBI party, he started to piss himself too. Maybe it is a posh clique thing, because he comes from a council house too. He said, ‘I don’t think there’s many people going to that, my old battered flange.’ Then Haddock turned up. He was grumpy because he had argued with his girlfriend (AGAIN).
And that was when I had the most embarrassing conversation of my life probably ever. When Battered Sausage went to the loo, just to make conversation I asked Haddock if he had been invited to this HBI party . . . This is the full doom conversation that followed:
ME: Have you been invited to this HBI party?
(MASSIVE DEATH-STARE WITH ONE EYEBROW IN THE AIR.)
HAD: Are you taking the piss?
ME: What?
HAD: Are you saying I’m a poof?
ME: No – I just asked if you had been invited to
Amber East’s boyfriend’s HBI party, as I have NOT been invited.
HAD: You’re serious, aren’t you?
(He started grinning at this point. Yes, nice smile, but he was in full piss-take mode now.)
HAD: Rae, ‘HBI’ stands for ‘hot beef injection’. He was inviting her round for a shag.
(MASSIVE PAUSE. I WAS DYING.)
ME: But it was a proper invite and everything . . .
HAD: Well, mate, he obviously needed a proper shag.
ME: Would you like a drink?
(I had to do something. It was even worth buying a round for. Honestly I could have died.)
HOW COULD I NOT KNOW THAT?
I didn’t mention it to Battered Sausage when he came back from the toilet. And to be fair I don’t think Haddock did either, or I know Battered Sausage would have taken the piss all night. When Haddock left, though, he did wink at me. He knows now he has got something MAJOR over me. I’ll have to redress that balance.
On the way home I told Battered Sausage how I felt about Harry. He said that first loves always hurt the most. After he lost his virginity down that alleyway in Castle Bytham, his girlfriend dumped him. He said he even cried a bit. Like it was the worst thing ever. I told him women liked it when a man cried, as it showed sensitivity. He said, ‘Only the nice ones, Rae. Only the nice ones.’
Feel so ugly and lonely tonight. No HBIs for me for the foreseeable future. Why do blokes always call their cocks after something you would find in a butcher’s shop? Beef injection, pork sword, love sausage. They all act like they are 12.
Thursday 22.6.89 (actually it’s Friday)
1.54 a.m.
EMMA’S PARTY TONIGHT WAS BRILLIANT. They played a lot of good crap, if you know what I mean. We did ‘Do the Conga’ and I got sandwiched between Battered Sausage and Fig, who were doing daft dancing. On nights like this I do fancy Battered Sausage a bit, which is a real shame, because a) he only fancies slim blonde things, b) he sees me as ‘one of the lads’, and c) he’s buggering off to university soon, if he gets his grades.
He is staying the night tonight. Don’t get excited, we are in different beds. Fig came round too. He stayed until 1 a.m. Battered Sausage is in Mum’s bed. I can hear him snoring.
I love him so much it hurts.
Fig reckons any future husband of mine would be hen-pecked. This is bollocks. It would have to be someone with a stronger personality. I can’t bear weak men. I always go for people with big personalities.
3.14 a.m.
No I don’t. Harry could barely speak. Some pigeons have a bigger personality than he does.
Friday 23.6.89
11.30 p.m.
FIRST FULL DRESS REHEARSAL FOR The Wizard of Oz was a total and utter disaster. The Tin Man’s paint would not come out of her hair. Jasmine fell out of her basque when she was doing the ‘jump to the left’ on ‘The Time Warp’. I am telling you now – her figure is amazing. I just can’t relate to it. She is a size 8 to 10. She even smells nice all of the time. Then the Wizard of Oz’s curtain dropped prematurely. The director in tears again – I told her not to worry as Battered Sausage had told me only spods and people’s boyfriends are coming from the boys’ school, so who gives a shit about looking like an idiot?
Saturday 24.6.89
11.56 p.m.
IMADE BATTERED SAUSAGE TOAST THIS morning and he moaned that I hadn’t spread the Flora properly. I don’t think I could marry a man with an attitude like that.
Went to Peterborough today. Used some of the food money Mum had left me to buy two PHENOMENAL records:
1) THE QUEEN IS DEAD – THE SMITHS. I only had a taped copy and it was getting knackered. ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’ is a song – well, it’s about ME.
2) RAW LIKE SUSHI – NENEH CHERRY. It is BLOODY AMAZING. This is honestly the best album I have heard in years. I would love to look like Neneh Cherry. She is so bloody gorgeous – even in crap cycling shorts.
Alone in the house. Sounds like it should be wonderful, but it isn’t. Hypochondria creeping in nastily. Feel bad all over. Some people are doing Ouija boards at school but I’m not touching that shit. Knowing my luck, bloody Jack the Ripper would try to get in touch.
We have all decided not to rehearse The Wizard of Oz any more. We can’t be bothered and some of the costumes are already coming apart. The trees are looking ever so tatty.
Sunday 25.6.89 (FIRST PERFORMANCE)
10.55 p.m.
WIZARD OF OZ WENT BRILLIANTLY! In the end – due to budget constraints – I had to source my own costume. Hence the fact that my favourite suede jacket (that the lads have nicknamed ‘Dennis Waterman’ because apparently he used to wear one in The Sweeney) is now stuffed with straw. The dance routines went dead well – especially Kylie Minogue’s ‘Hand on Your Heart’ (everyone got their hands on their heart at the right time) and Guns ’n’ Roses’ ‘Paradise City’ (though Jasmine reckoned she had got a migraine through head-banging). The Wizard missed her cue, but everyone creased when I said in a scarecrow voice, ‘I don’t think the Wizard is quite ready yet.’ The director’s boyfriend said, ‘Rae, you were really funny,’ which was sweet – but let’s be honest, he does sports science – and is attached. How much can one person know about PE??
School seemed to enjoy it. Wish some blokes had been there to see it. I mean, I looked like crap but perhaps if they had seen me performing then they would have seen me in a whole new light.
Monday 26.6.89
6.14 p.m.
A. C. C. U.
GOT MY EXAM RESULTS TODAY. Yes, they do mark them quick – they have nothing else to do. Yes, I was pleased about English. Politics and theatre acts OK. Yes, history was an unmitigated disaster, but I knew it would be. Form teacher said, ‘Altogether good, but what about history?’ I said I would work harder. But I won’t. I can’t be bothered. Nazi Germany would be worth learning about, but not Elizabeth I. Me and her have got a lot in common, though. We are both gobby and confident, and we are both virgins. But I am telling you now – I AM NOT DYING ONE!
But it all scares me. I can’t imagine doing it with a bloke. I just think he’d laugh. I wouldn’t know what I was doing.
Midnight-ish
Pissed and knackered. Just got in from a party. Another three hours of the same songs from the Leo Mobile Disco that everyone hires. If I hear ‘My Boy Lollipop’ or ‘The Final Countdown’ by Europe one more time I swear I will punch someone.
And what else was the same about this evening? No snogs. Four sodding months to the day. All work. No play. Shit. Tonight, one girl said – and I don’t think she meant it nastily – ‘Does it bother you being so big, Rae?’ and I said, ‘No, I don’t often think about it.’ What could I say? Yes – every moment of every day? Burst into tears when I got home. They can’t know what it’s like. But it’s hell.
Tuesday 27.6.89
11.10 p.m.
WANT TO WRITE BUT EXAMS and performing have left me feeling totally exhausted.
Second and final performance of The Wizard of Oz tonight. It went really well, though there weren’t many people in the audience. Then we went down the pub in costume for a laugh. It says everything that the Tin Man got more attention than me. SHE WAS SILVER, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
Do you know what, Diary? I am sure you are sick of me feeling shit about myself, and I am sick of going on about it. Why don’t I just do it? Why don’t I just look on the bright side? I am clever, people think I’m funny, I am predicted good grades for my A levels. The only bad things are fat and men.
Wednesday 28.6.89
9.56 p.m.
HAVE COCKED UP ROYALLY ON the money Mum left me for food. Stupidly have spent £7 of it on an Enya cassette from Stamford Music Shop. Great field and thinking music – but now there’s no food in the house. Polly came round tonight with an emergency bottle of milk and a Fray Bentos steak and kidney pie, but I’m still in trouble. Won’t starve, though, because of dinner at school, plus the boarders will sneak me out breakfast if I ask them.
I could even see it as a really quick way to lose weight. Just eat one meal a day at school, and spend the rest of the time listening to Enya and OMD in the field by the Rainbow Superstore. It’s a nice thought; but the farmer gets well narked if he sees you near his sprouts.
Thursday 29.6.89
4.15 p.m.
IHAVE AGREED TO SOMETHING THAT might go so wrong I may be grounded for life.
Battered Sausage asked today if him and a load of his mates could stay at mine tonight. I thought it was because I was dead popular, but I discovered it’s because they want to use my house as a good ‘base’ for their end-of-term/school big stunt prank. Battered Sausage would not tell me for ages what it was about, but finally I got it out of him. It is unbelievable. They have got the shell of a bright-pink Mini, and they are going to put it in Stamford School hall. One of them has managed to get hold of a key. It’s light because it hasn’t got an engine, and it’s hidden behind the cricket pavilion. I have told Battered Sausage that I cannot be implicated in the plot in any way. It’s a risk, but I am going to be the only girl with about ten blokes in her house – so it is worth it.
